


Fifth Time Lucky

by Jemima_Puddleduck



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, John is a Very Good Doctor, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Nervous Sherlock, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Shy Sherlock, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 21:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9923249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemima_Puddleduck/pseuds/Jemima_Puddleduck
Summary: A quick johnlock friends to lovers fluff that I wrote when I was bored. It wasn't oringnally going to be a 5+1 but I thought this suited it better. Enjoy!





	

The first time it happened, John had been surprised, if a little irritated. He was sitting on the sofa in 221B, immersed in a good book. He felt the sofa springs creak under an added weight as Sherlock slumped down next to him with a sigh. He had a particularly difficult case to deal with and it was beginning to frustrate him. John carried on reading, knowing that Sherlock was already absorbed in his own head and wouldn't take in a word anybody else said. He felt more shuffling and the cushions adjusting next to him as Sherlock turned on the sofa. He was surprised to look down and find Sherlock's feet lying in his lap. He looked up at his friend to admonish him, but he was caught up in his mind palace and dead to the world. A small smile was playing across his lips as he tented his fingers under his chin and stretched out across John's lap like a lounging cat. John just sighed and went back to his book.

\--------------------------

The second time was on the way home to 221B. John and Sherlock were bundled into the back of a cab and were slowly making their way to Baker Street through the labyrinth of traffic lights and one-way streets. John relaxed back in his chair and watched the lights of the city dancing across the wet pavement. People came and went as the roads drifted by. Happy evening shoppers walked with full bags and children stood on tiptoe at the windows, hands pressed tightly to the glass. 

They had just come back from an exhausting case. John knew that Sherlock hadn't slept for a week. He worried about him, but there was nothing he could do to persuade him to rest while he was busy enjoying the thrill of the chase. Now, he was drained and tired, staring out of the opposite window with the blinking eyes of someone trying desperately to stay awake. John smiled at him when he wasn't looking, knowing that the detective would soon be taking care of himself as he should be. 

John had just turned his attention back to the window when he felt Sherlock slump next to him. It seemed as if Sherlock had finally caved and fallen asleep, leaning heavily against John. His head was resting on John's broad shoulder and their bodies were suddenly pressed side to side. John smiled at him affectionately, wondering how it was remotely possible that the snarky, sarcastic detective who supposedly didn't have a heart, could end up sleeping on him in the back of cab like an over-tired five year old on the way home from the zoo. Sherlock nuzzled closer into his shoulder, seemingly quite comfortable. 

\--------------------

The third time was after Sherlock had been sent him from hospital. He had been knocked over the head during a chase and sustained a severe concussion and an equally severe knock to his pride. John was tasked with looking after him and keeping him monitored through the night, as Sherlock didn't want to stay in the hospital any longer than necessary. He leant heavily into his friend as they made their way up the seventeen steps into 221B and John was soon tucking him into his bed. Sherlock breathed in the familiar scent of his own duvet with a sated smile, happy to be away from the chemical smells of the hospital. John sat in the armchair which sat in the opposite corner of the room and perched his laptop precariously on his knees. 

"John." Sherlock slurred. 

John was immediately alert, looking up at Sherlock intently. "What is it?" 

"Come here." A sleepy Sherlock said, sounding dazed. 

John could just about see the shock of inky black curls thrown across the pillow from his position in the chair. Sherlock had the covers pulled right up under his chin. John plodded over, placing his laptop on the floor. 

He perched gently on the side of Sherlock's bed and let his eyes graze over him, the doctor's part of his brain subconsciously checking him and making sure he was okay.

"What's up?" He asked gently as Sherlock huffed softly in his half-asleep state. 

"Want you here." He mumbled, not opening his eyes. John smiled down at him fondly. 

"I'm still in the room Sherlock. It's okay." John reassured him, making to get up and move back to his chair. 

Before John could leave, Sherlock had wound himself around John like a climbing vine, rooting him to the bed where he sat. John almost felt like laughing, but Sherlock's obvious vulnerability touched him and he reached out to put a comforting hand in Sherlock's hair. Sherlock sighed appreciatively as John brushed through his hair lightly and he pressed himself closer to him.  

Before long, Sherlock was snoring lightly into John's stomach. This gave John an opportunity to see all the things about Sherlock that he would usually miss, the details you could only observe from this angle. His chest rose and fell rhythmically and John watched as he moved with each breath. He liked the way the moonlight from outside the window illuminated Sherlock's face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jawline. John relaxed where he sat, not quite ready to return to his chair yet. 

\-----------------------

The fourth time was on Guy Fawkes Night. John was on edge all day, he knew what was coming and he couldn't make himself comfortable. He hated fireworks, each loud bang would send a jolt of panic running through him that he was unable to contain. Memories of Afghanistan would surface without warning, and sleep would be a long way off. It didn't help that he'd also once been drugged, stuffed into a bonfire and set alight. 

Sherlock could tell he was worried about something. Even he, with his limited social skills, could see that John was making at least double the amounts of tea that he usually did, just for something to do. The tremor in his hand had returned with a vengeance, and Sherlock made a mental note to keep an eye on him.

At 2am the next morning, Sherlock was listening at the door. He'd heard John calling loudly in his sleep with a pained voice and rushed upstairs to see him. The fireworks still roared outside, promising to go on for another few hours. Sherlock heard John call out again and he decided to walk inside. John's room was hot and stuffy and it was clear from the bedsheets that he had been tossing and turning all night. He was laying in the middle of the bed, curled up into a ball. Sherlock watched with a concerned expression as his friend writhed around in his sleep. 

Sherlock slowly padded over to the bed in bare feet and placed a gentle hand on John's back. He could feel John's t-shirt damp with sweat under his fingers. Sherlock brushed the stray strands of hair out of John's face and watched his pained expression. He slowly ran his finger in circles on John's back and his friend melted under the touch. His terrified mumblings stopped abruptly, but the tension in his body was still there. 

Sherlock slowly eased himself under the duvet and pulled the covers over both of them. He scooted over to John and wrapped his arms around him comfortingly. He slowly brought John's head to rest on his chest, hoping his steady heartbeat would calm him. He found one of John's wrists underneath the sheets, and let his fingers spread across John's skin. He could feel his heartbeat, hard and fast, pulsing under his fingers. 

Within a few minutes, John's pulse had dropped and he was quietly sighing into Sherlock's chest. Sherlock smiled at him, watching as the tension dropped away. He put a hand through John's soft hair, admiring his sleeping form. He didn't sleep, just lay there with him in his arms, cataloging every detail to store in his mind palace. When morning came, Sherlock carefully eased himself out from under the covers and let John flop back against the mattress. He crept from the room without waking him, turning to steal one last look as he walked trough the door. 

John awoke to the light streaming in through the window. To his surprise, he noted that he'd slept the rest of the night without another nightmare. His brows furrowed, trying to work out how he could have escaped them. He looked across the bed and saw an impression in the mattress. His breath hitched in his throat as he imagined what could have happened but when he walked into the kitchen to make breakfast a few minutes later, he didn't say a word about it. 

\---------------------

The fifth time was when he finally realised. They were both on the sofa in 221B, immersed in yet another James Bond marathon. John was smiling at the screen as one of the Bond girls sashayed her way into the spy's embrace. He reached for his beer and Sherlock took his chance, shuffling slightly closer to him. John didn't notice and took a swig from his bottle. Sherlock's fingers tapped anxiously on his knee as he watched him. 

Sherlock was just about to shuffle further, when John paused the telly and stood up. 

"Want a snack? I'm starving." John told him, making his way towards the kitchen. 

Sherlock cursed himself. "No thank you John, I'm not hungry." 

John soon returned and placed a large bowl of crisps on the bcoffee table. He relaxed back into the sofa and resumed playing the film. A fight scene began, a jumbled pile of limbs and bodies flying across the screen, making Sherlock's head spin. He kept glancing at John nervously, but his friend was on the edge of his seat, watching intently now. Not the right time. 

"You okay Sherlock?" John asked with a soft expression. He'd caught him staring.

"Yeah. Fine." Sherlock said, managing a smile. "Just worried for the safety of our favourite spy." 

John laughed brightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he chuckled. "Like hell you are." 

Sherlock couldn't resist it anymore. This was the moment. Now or never. All the touches he'd had before, the sleepy hugs, breathing in John scent. All of those touches he'd allowed himself, could have been explained away. This was different. This was opening his heart, just a little, but soon the floodgates would open, Sherlock was sure of it. He took one shaky breath and cuddled into John, wrapping one long arm around his waist and letting his head lie on John's chest. 

John's laughter stopped abruptly. Sherlock stopped breathing. 

John could feel his pulse rising, and he knew Sherlock could feel it too. He looked down at Sherlock with a wild look in his eyes. Sherlock actually liking him that way was more than John dared hope. He hadn't let himself even consider the possibility but now, his mind was racing out of control and Sherlock's hand on his waist and his smell up his nose and the curls tickling his neck were almost too much to bear. 

"Sherlock." John said, his voice sounding embarrassingly choked. 

Sherlock had his eyes squeezed tightly shut, not daring to look. He held onto John as if he was the only thing keeping him alive. He didn't say a word.

"Sherlock." John repeated, more insistently. 

"What." Sherlock breathed shakily. 

"Do you ... I mean, do you ..." John stuttered, the question stuck to the end of his tongue and he couldn't finish. He shook his head. "God, nevermind, I'm just being stupid." 

Sherlock managed to regain his composure and relinquished his hold on John, just for a moment. He turned and stared into his eyes, filled with doubt and confusion. 

"What did you want to ask?" Sherlock asked, more daring now. He slid his fingers over John's wrist to check his pulse and felt his own heart jump to match John's elevated rhythm. 

"Look Sherlock, just... just forget it. Okay?" John stammered, not meeting Sherlock's intense gaze. 

"Fine then, let me." Sherlock told him gently, his eyes still looking over John's face with intensity. "Do you remember the time a few weeks ago, when I lay over you on the sofa?"

"Yeah." 

"I could have sat in my armchair to think. I didn't need the sofa for any particular reason. I just wanted to be near you." Sherlock admitted.

"Oh." John gulped.

"And that time in the cab, I was already leaning towards the window. It made sense that I would have slept there, but I turned and slept on you instead." He continued, emboldened now. "And when I was concussed. I knew exactly what I was doing. I wasn't out of my head. I just wanted to hold you, the same as bonfire night."

"What?" John asked, not recalling Sherlock touching him that day at all.

"You woke up the next morning and realised you'd actually slept well, without a nightmare. I heard you crying out in the night and came in to comfort you." He confessed sheepishly. At this admission, his nerves returned. John knew everything now. He could make or break Sherlock with just one sentence. 

"So you ... like me?" John asked, his heart leaping into his throat. He was now all too aware of Sherlock's gentle hand lingering on his wrist. "But you said you were married to your work, that you never date, that you never..."

"Oh for god's sake." Sherlock mumbled frustratedly, cutting John off abruptly. He took the instant of John's surprise, and steeled himself before leaning in. 

He pressed his lips to John's gently, exploring them, tentatively trying them on for size. John made a strangled noise of shock somewhere in his throat and Sherlock almost pulled back, but John's hand shot up and tangled itself in Sherlock's inky black curls. John pressed himself closer to Sherlock, the tension sagging away from him as he began to enjoy the moment, savouring every last second. As his mind began to go blank, Sherlock's was going into overdrive. He was fast to catalogue these new sensations in his mind palace, adding them to the pile of facts and details he'd already gathered about John, just in case this was only time he would kiss him. 

John could still feel the tension in Sherlock, the tightness of his shoulders, the stiffness in his chest. He placed his spare palm on his torso, running his fingers across the fabric softly. It was his favourite purple shirt, he noticed. When Sherlock still didn't relax, John pulled back and buried his face in Sherlock's shoulder. For a moment, he just rested there, taking deep, gulping breaths of Sherlock's scent. 

"I had no idea you felt like this." John said breathlessly.

"Always have." Sherlock admitted. "Is it...good?" 

John stared up at him incredulously. How could he still be worried that John didn't like him back? True, he hadn't properly considered it until the night when a concussed Sherlock had curled up in his lap, and the whole idea was still new to him, but he was sure now. His heart almost broke to see Sherlock's terrified glance in his direction. He was still paralysed with fear at the possibility that he'd be rejected, and that John would leave him. John wanted to set that right. 

"The best." He smiled warmly, leaning in to kiss Sherlock once more.


End file.
